


You Are By Far My Favorite

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-05
Updated: 2010-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She turns back quick enough to see Brittany frown before the blond slides towards the other end of the couch to Mike and that's when she makes her decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are By Far My Favorite

Santana’s body shudders as she tries to take a deep gulp of air. She feels overheated, one side pressing against the arm of the couch, the other against Brittany. She clutches at her stomach as Brittany tells another duck joke, waving her arms around, and she presses her face into Brittany’s neck, laughing hotly against Brittany’s collarbone. Then there are hands pulling her wrists and Puck is lifting her off the couch, yelling over the music that he wants to dance.

She turns back quick enough to see Brittany frown before the blond slides towards the other end of the couch to Mike and that’s when she makes her decision.

Hand in Puck’s, she weaves through the people dancing and the people just standing around, finding an open room at the end of a hallway she probably shouldn’t be in; she’s sure Matt won’t mind.

“We can’t,” she says quietly, even though the party is downstairs.

Puck smirks. “Well, not in here we can’t. But I have a blanket in the back of my truck and,” he trails off and frowns, “and that’s not what you’re talking about.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Brittany,” he says without asking. She nods and he sighs a little, his shoulders dropping a little before they straighten again and he’s gripping her arms by her elbows, nodding and telling her it’s okay.

She almost wants to punch him for assuming she somehow needed his permission, but she’s already moving back through the house by the time it registers in her mind, sinking back down into her seat.

“Where’s Puck?” Brittany asks, taking a long sip from the red cup in her hand.

Santana shrugs and pulls the cup from Brittany’s grasp, swallowing some and ignoring the burn in the back of her throat. She dry swallows again and smiles. “Why? Did you want to make out with him instead of me?”

Brittany blinks. “No,” she says slowly, frowning.

Santana only smiles wider and leans across Brittany, tapping a pouting Mike on the shoulder. “Hold this,” she says when he turns around, forcing the cup into his hand. She sits back, catching the bottom of Brittany’s chin with one hand, turning wide blue eyes towards her.

“Are you drunk?” Brittany asks quietly, eyes darting around the room nervously.

Santana’s smile fades and she waits until Brittany is looking at her again before she says, “No. Are you?”

Brittany shakes her head. “You’re going to kiss me.”

It’s not a question. Santana smirks. “That was the plan, but you’re talking,” she says, shifting closer to Brittany, her free hand sliding around Brittany’s waist, fingertips pressing against skin, “and not kissing, so maybe I’m doing this wrong,” she trails off, suddenly unsure.

It takes Brittany ten seconds – ten painful seconds during which Santana imagines four different ways this could go wrong – and then a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth and she moves closer, pushing Santana even further into the couch. “You’re doing fine,” she whispers before Santana feels Brittany’s mouth against her own her eyes flutter closed.

Someone wolf-whistles; someone else –  _Mike_ , Santana thinks, by the location of the ear-piercing noise – shrieks and then the music is swallowing the cat calls and all Santana can hear is her heart hammering away in her chest and the tiniest whimper Brittany makes when Santana bites down on her bottom lip. A hand moves across the nape of her neck and grips the back of her head and it takes every ounce of self-control not to pull Brittany by the waist into her lap.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Brittany works her bottom lip between her lips and looks up at Santana through her eyelashes and Santana almost doesn’t care that they’re sitting on Matt’s couch, surrounded by the football team and the cheerleaders and the Glee kids.

“Sure,” Brittany says softly, sliding off the couch and holding her hand out to Santana.

Santana takes it.

\---

Walking through the halls before the bell is pretty anti-climatic.

So sure, nothing has changed on the outside – her uniform is pressed and her hair is pulled tight and she’s still hot, obviously – but things  _have_  changed on the inside and she kind of thought people would notice.

She actually thought people would notice and point and stare and there would be Slushies and she’s even get to punch someone, maybe Karofsky, but freshman still cower in her shadow and Puck still nods and smirks at her and it’s all kind of disappointing.

She expected  _something_  to happen, but nothing does.

It’s high school, though, and there’s a new scandal every week; new gossip and rumors and Christina Larsen was seen outside the free clinic again, so hardly anyone remembers that she dumped Puck – privately – and made out with Brittany – publically – at Matt’s house after the football game.

Santana frowns and starts plucking at the edge of her uniform top, leaning against her locker, occasionally scowling at anyone who makes eye contact with her.

“Hey,” she hears from the left. She stands up straight and smiles wide, feeling her face grow hot. “Missed you last night,” Brittany says, softer.

“Family night,” Santana says, rolling her eyes.

Brittany smiles, but her eyes narrow into slits and she leans forward a little, looking into Santana’s face.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re upset. Why are you upset?”

Santana’s eyes widen and she scrambles for something to say like “ _no I’m not_ ” or “ _you’re crazy_ ” but her hands end up on her hips and her bottom lip pouts out and she hears herself muttering, “No one even cares.”

“Cares about what?” Brittany asks, smile wavering.

“About  _us_ ,” Santana grumbles. “About us being together now.”

Brittany laughs loudly, the noise echoing off the lockers and Santana glares at some punk who stares at them before looking back at Brittany, letting her face soften.

“Sorry,” she mumbles apologetically, glancing down at her foot tapping against the floor.

Brittany rolls her eyes and smiles. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I feel like something’s gonna happen. Something special.”

Santana looks up from the floor and smirks. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Brittany says, batting Santana in the shoulder with a loosely-balled fist. “Definitely.”

There’s a pause and Santana counts to fifteen in her head before she holds out her hands expectantly. “What is it then?”

Brittany smiles a little wider, leans in a little closer, and says, “I feel like I’m going to hold your hand,” she says quietly, her fingers pulling Santana’s away from her uniform, tangling together. Brittany’s hand is warm, but not sweaty, and heavy, but not too tight. “Special, isn’t it?”

There’s an odd flutter feeling inside of her chest that feels nothing like the jack hammering feeling she thought she’d get, when she had dreamt about this.

It’s just an odd fluttering feeling in her chest and Brittany’s hand in hers and nothing’s changed too much after all.

“Sure it is,” she says softly, smiling genuinely.

Brittany nods like she knew the answer all along and starts down the hall towards Brittany’s math class, Santana a half a step behind.

At the door, Brittany pauses and pulls until Santana is facing her, head titled slightly up. She leans forward, offering a kiss.

Santana takes it.


End file.
